


Tunnel Vision

by bubblegumkitsch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblegumkitsch/pseuds/bubblegumkitsch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one can touch him, but everyone wants to. And deep down, Louis suspects he wants everyone to. </p><p> <br/>Louis and Harry ride the same train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tunnel Vision

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Tunnel Vision](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpDBQYVQHc8) by Justin Timberlake

For the longest time he’s only known him from the way the back of his head looked. A mess of brown curls atop a head nearly always bobbing along to whatever music is blasting through his headphones. A set of broad shoulders stretching up as he gives his usual exaggerated morning yawn. The scent of him as he brushes by to find the nearest empty seat. Something different and surprising every time. Sometimes musky like he’s been running around outside all day, sometimes sweet like cotton candy, sometimes acidic and harsh like he’s just bathed in a vat of chemicals. Whatever it happens to be it always makes Louis look up from what he’s doing. Sometimes he’ll nod at Louis as he walks by, a smile and a wave, then, back to his morning coffee. Off to work and his boss being angry with him for being late yet again, but really that was never his fault. The trains were always late and the city was just too overcrowded for it to be expected of him to come in before nine in the morning. 

As for the guy from the train, time doesn’t seem to matter to him as much. Every morning he stumbles through the doors at the last second possible, always toting some large equipment bags that force everyone near the doors to squeeze together to make room. But somehow, no one ever seems to mind. He’s such a marvel all clad in black skinny jeans and still wearing sunglasses, despite the fact that he’s underground, that all anybody can do is stare and let him pass by. 

Most days he manages to get a seat, people seeing his equipment and shuffling their own bags, bodies, even children to make room. He’ll sit, legs splayed out and brushing up against whatever poor soul happens to be nearby. Clearly he has no notion of personal space. It’s also clear he is unaware of the effect he has on people. More often than not whenever he sits down the inhabitants of the seats next to his will vacate their posts by the next stop, cracking under the pressure of deciding how to react to such a person, leaving him with an empty space around him. No one can touch him, but everyone wants to. And deep down, Louis suspects he wants everyone to.

\-----

One morning as Louis leans his head against the glass pane of the train window, he stirs into awareness, hearing the shuffle of people adjusting around him followed by the unmistakable throaty cough surely stifled into a large fist not gripping a cup of sloshing coffee. Except this time, for the first time, it seems Louis will be the victim.

Louis can feel warmth emanating from his thigh the second he sidles up next to him. Louis crosses his arms and straightens up to make more room. 

“Sorry,” he says to Louis, his voice deeper, but somehow so much younger than he would have expected, “Can’t seem to pack light lately.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Louis’ body stiffens. Suddenly he’s hyper aware of every movement he makes, each intake of breath and twitch of his leg.

Next to him, bags are being shed from broad shoulders and shoved into the aisle, “Would you mind?” The husky voice asks. Louis turns his head to see a pair of panicked eyes and a shaky hand barely maintaining a grasp on a cup of hot coffee as the man next to him struggles to extract a buzzing phone from the pocket of his jeans.

Louis takes the coffee, hissing when some of the scalding brown liquid sloshes out through the lid and onto his hand.

“Yeah,” the man says, phone finally nestled between his ear and a raised shoulder, “Yeah, it’s Harry,” he continues, “HARRY,” he shouts, shifting the phone into his hand and leaning forward in the seat so he’s nearly got his head tucked in between his legs, “No, I’m sorry I’m on my way.” Louis hears him try to whisper, “Well, maybe if I didn’t have to lug all this stuff by myself I wouldn’t--”

Just then the train lurches to a stop, making Harry shift forward in his seat, hitting his head on the railing of the seat in front of him, “Well, I’m almost there just hold on.” Harry hangs up the phone, shoves it into his back pocket and begins to struggle to grab the bags now strewn about the aisle. He’s so distracted he nearly forgets Louis still has his coffee.

Louis offers it to him, placing a tentative hand on the hem of his jacket, “Harry, wait! Your coffee.”

Harry gives him a baffled look. “How did you know my name?”

“Didn’t you just say it on the phone?” Louis lifts up the cup a little further, forcing it into Harry’s only free hand.

Harry frowns. “Oh, yeah. Suppose I did.” He shrugs his shoulder in an attempt to reposition the bags so he could shake Louis’ hand but by the time he’s completed the balancing act there is a line of people behind him waiting to get off the train as he blocks the aisle. “Well, thanks...”

“Louis. Name’s Louis,” Louis interrupts excitedly, frantically nodding his head in search of a response somewhere in Harry’s distracted gaze.

“Yeah, ok. Thanks!” Harry smiles, still looking a bit confused and already beginning to make his way towards the exit.

Once the doors close Louis slumps back into his seat, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. “Shit,” he whispers to himself. He’d promised himself if Harry ever sat near him he’d keep his cool, having seen too many others waste such a golden opportunity. 

After a moment Louis collects himself enough to open his eyes again, squinting as they adjust to the light. Across from him he sees a familiar-looking pair of middle aged women, one seated and one standing, her weight thrown to one side as she grasps the railing above her. They’re both grinning and shaking their heads when Louis makes eye contact. “Harry, wait!” the seated woman mouths to the other, extending her hand dramatically to reach the hem of her friend’s blouse. They both collapse into a fit of laughter as Louis makes his way to the exit, deciding to get off a stop early now that the entire train seems to be staring in his direction.

\-----

Taking the same route to work every morning, Louis gets to know the same set of faces. The single mother, constantly trying to convince her son not to climb up the poles or onto other passengers’ laps. The old university professor reading his newspaper. The group of giggling primary school girls huddled around an iPod. And sometimes, Harry.

That’s the curious thing about Harry, though. He takes Louis’ route often enough to be recognizable (though he would probably be memorable even if Louis had only seen him once) but not often enough so that it’s not a surprise every time he comes pushing through the doors at the last minute. 

So, naturally when Louis is running late one morning, maintaining a solid sprint all the way to the station, and slides into the train just as the silver doors are about to shut, he’s startled to see Harry already standing there, a long arm extended to grip one of the holds attached to the ceiling. Normally he’s toting at least three substantial black bags, but today all Louis can see as he pushes past people to find an empty space is a small camera bag slung over his shoulder. 

The train is unusually full this morning and Louis struggles to find a good place to stand. After tripping over his own feet for a while and almost falling over on an unsuspecting elderly couple, Louis finds himself standing right next to Harry. It takes a moment for Louis to notice but once he steadies himself, left hand gripping a nearby pole, he realizes he’s sandwiched right up against Harry. 

Harry’s build is solid against Louis’ back and Louis can feel his muscles tighten slightly each time the train turns or lurches to a stop. 

“Sorry,” Louis looks over his shoulder up at Harry, “Tight squeeze this morning.” He laughs nervously.

“I don’t mind,” Harry smirks down at Louis, shifting forward a bit so he can turn his head to make eye contact. 

“Oh, um, okay,” Louis mumbles. He shakes his head and tries to focus on the space in front of him, inhabited by a man speaking what sounds like Russian quite animatedly on his cell phone. 

Concentrating on anything other than Harry proves to be difficult. With each movement of the train Louis feels the bulk of Harry’s chest up against his back, a warm breath coming down over his head from Harry’s nostrils, the occasional lurch of the train forcing Louis’ ass dangerously into Harry’s crotch. 

For the few moments they are pressed up against one another, it’s all Louis can do to not melt to the floor. Harry feels so good and Louis is angry with himself for turning into such a mess so quickly. All the while with Harry looking off in the distance casually, only occasionally shifting his gaze down to glance at Louis. 

After a few stops, Louis feels Harry shift behind him, straightening up the bag on his shoulder as he gets ready to exit. 

Louis jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder, “See you next time, Louis,” Harry leans in to whisper, breath sending shivers down Louis’ spine. 

Louis gulps and watches dumbstruck as Harry exits the train. He could swear Harry winks at him but the more logical part of his brain tells him there’s no way.

\-----

The next time Louis sees Harry it’s not until a few days later. Louis has already decided Harry must be on a different route today as the train shudders to start. Louis looks around aimlessly until he notices a dark, broad figure in the back corner of the train. Somehow, against all logic, Harry has managed to make himself inconspicuous today. The way he’s hunched over his camera, taking calculated shots of unsuspecting passengers, most people don’t even notice he’s there.

Louis watches him work for a while, taking in the way his fingers look adjusting the settings on his camera, how his eyebrows furrow in concentration when’s trying to focus in on something. He’s so wrapped up in watching Harry he barely notices when the camera turns in his direction. 

When Harry peeks above the viewfinder, a smile spreading across his pink lips in such a way that really should be illegal, Louis finally snaps out of his stupor. 

Louis cocks his head to one side when he realizes Harry could only be looking down the lense at him. “Hey...” He starts to starts to say, but just then the train pulls into the next stop and Harry’s face disappears among the people departing. When the crowd thins Louis looks to the back corner of the cabin only to see an empty seat where Harry once sat. 

Louis sighs as he checks his reflection in the glass window. Of course the fit photographer would take pictures of him on the day he couldn’t even be bothered to style his hair. He pushes his fringe in an attempt to minimize the damage but it’s too late. His state of dishevelment has already been recorded for Harry to peruse at his leisure.

\------ 

It’s half past midnight on Saturday when Louis stumbles onto the train. The party had been a bust, something this pal from work invited him to. He’d stayed long enough to get sufficiently buzzed but truth be told he’d been ready to leave from the moment he walked in.

Ever since he started working, his social life had fallen by the wayside. He’d promised himself at New Years’ he’d get himself back out there, but getting drunk off beer at some intern’s flat with a bunch of university students wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. 

The train is completely empty aside from a homeless man asleep in the corner. Figures. While most of the city is out enjoying throes of their Saturday night, Louis is already headed home to a bottle of wine and reality tv reruns. 

Louis picks a seat at random and settles in. The party was sort of out of the way, in one of those trendy neighborhoods post grads flock to for the cheap rent and ethnic food, so it’ll be awhile before he gets back home. He’s about to doze off himself when he hears the familiar woosh of metal doors sliding open. No one had even boarded the last few stops but this time Louis hears the distinct click of boots drawing closer. As the sounds slows Louis can feel a presence hovering behind him.

He keeps his gaze forward but jumps when he feels a hot breath on his neck. It smells like rum and cigarette smoke, lingering traces of sweat and the night air. “Pictures turned out great. In case you were wondering.”

Louis doesn’t even have to turn around to know it’s Harry. Normally Harry being close like this would send Louis into a nervous frenzy, but tonight, blood still pumping fast through his veins from the alcohol, he’s feeling more courageous. “You know you should really ask people before you start snapping pictures of them out of the blue. If you’re not careful people might think you’re some kind of creep or voyeur.”

“Who says I’m not?” Harry’s so close Louis can feel him grinning against his neck.

Louis turns to look back at Harry but in a flash Harry’s hopped over the barrier between them and settled himself next to Louis, an arm draped casually around the back of the seat. 

“I think you might be my best subject yet,” Harry continues.

Louis raises an eyebrow, “I doubt that.” Something about Harry’s mischievous grin makes Louis unsure of whether he’s actually serious or just drunk and having a laugh.

“No, really,” Harry insists, “But when I was going through the film I realized there’s something about you that can’t be captured in a picture. Something in the way you move---something that makes me want to...” He pauses, biting down on his lower lip as he thinks something over before taking Louis’ face in his hands. It’s painfully slow but at the same time far quicker than Louis would have anticipated.

Harry kisses him lazily but purposefully, hands still gripping the sides of Louis’ face as he moves in closer. Harry’s lips are so soft and full it’s all Louis wants for a while to just feel them against his own, wet, strong, and growing impossibly pink by the second. But after a minute or two Louis’s kisses grow more urgent, forceful and sloppy and so intense it’s fogging up his vision.

Louis remembers himself for a moment, breaking the kiss and glancing around the train to make sure they remain unwatched. There’s still the homeless man asleep in the corner but judging by the snores escaping roughly from his chest it doesn’t seem like he’ll be waking up anytime soon. Louis sits up on his knees so he can reposition himself.

It’s an awkward fit but Louis manages to straddle himself on top Harry, who sinks down further in the seat to make room. Louis throws his arms around Harry’s neck so they’re hanging lazily off the back of the seat. He’s about to lean in again when Harry cranes his head up to meet Louis’ neck. 

Harry bites at Louis’ neck enthusiastically, moving frantically back and forth in the space between his collarbone and his ear. Louis gasps at the stinging feeling but doesn’t pull away. “Shit,” He hisses a little loudly, causing them both to look around the train again to make sure they’re still alone, not that it would stop them at this point. Louis rolls his hips down over and over to meet Harry’s crotch. 

The friction of Harry’s jeans against his erection makes Harry break away from Louis’ neck. He throws his head back, letting out a breathless moan as he tilts his hips up to meet Louis’.

Louis continues to ride Harry, building up a rhythm that’s got them both close to coming. “Fuck Louis I wish you could see yourself like this,” Harry pants, staring up at Louis’ furrowed brow, “I wish I could take a picture of you right now. Fuck, I wish you could see how good you look.” 

Louis cuts Harry off, leaning in to kiss him while reaching one hand down to fumble with the buttons on Harry’s jeans. “Jesus,” Louis whispers struggling with zipper, “How did you even get these on?” 

“Sorry,” Harry laughs, burying his head into Louis’ neck again until--”Fuck” Harry gasps when he finally feels the coolness of Louis fingertips gripping his hot cock. Louis strokes Harry slowly at first, cautiously, taking time to look into his eyes, waiting for Harry to give him the go ahead to proceed.

Once he’s got Harry nodding fervently, the feeling of Louis’ hand hovering so close he’s desperate for him to continue, Louis leans back a bit to sit on his heels. Louis rocks back, letting the seat in front of them support him as he’s perched on top of Harry. More stable now, Louis takes Harry’s cock with both his hands, picking up speed with each twist of his wrist. 

He notices the train shudder to a stop but no one enters so he proceeds. The train picks up speed again and Harry groans so loud Louis is sure it should wake up the sleeping man in the corner but he’s too preoccupied to care. Now Harry’s running his free hands back and forth across the tops of the muscles on Louis’ thighs. He looks intently at Louis before squinting his eyes shut as he comes after one last surprising flick of Louis’ wrist. 

Harry frowns when he looks down at the white staining his black t-shirt. “Oh well,” he sighs “Your turn then.”

And before Louis can object, Harry lifts Louis off of his lap and pushes him into his original seat. Within a few seconds, Harry’s got his hand down Louis trousers, undoing the buttons as an afterthought when his enormous hands struggle to fit down Louis’ pants. 

Louis leans back in his seat, trapped under the weight of Harry’s arm reaching over him as he strokes Louis’ cock fast and relentless. It’s all Louis can do to tilt his head to the cold glass pane of the window, eyes half closed and taking in the blurry lights of the underground as they fly by. Louis’ brain has gone fuzzy and he’s muttering nonsense under his breath. Between pants of “more,” “shit,” and “Harry,” Harry leans in to leave one last mark on Louis’ neck, pushing him over the edge as he comes hot and messy into Harry’s hand. 

As Harry sits back in his seat the train slows and they both hear the screech of the brakes against the tracks. Louis glances at the electronic display above the door and jumps up when he realizes they’ve reached his stop. He climbs over Harry, who’s still breathing heavy, cheeks flushed red and pupils blown wide. 

“Uh,” Louis starts, already headed out the doors, “Thanks for the--”

“Any time,” Harry grins, “See you Monday morning?”

“You tell me,” Louis shrugs, stepping backward out of the train and onto the platform.

Louis watches as the doors slide shut in front of him when a thought occurs to him. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket and rushes to snap a picture of Harry as the train pulls away. He’s not sure he got it but when the photo loads he sees that Harry had turned his head to look out at Louis just in time to get a perfect shot of him winking at Louis through the window. 

“Monday morning,” he sighs, shoving the phone back into his pocket and watching the train disappear down the tunnel.


End file.
